What Father Didn't Tell Me
by IamSherlocked1895
Summary: Arthur's son Will is worried when Merlin fails to come back from a mission to capture a sorceress bent on destroying Camelot, but when Merlin returns nearly dead, secrets about the history between Arthur and the court sorcerer are revealed and Will can never look at his father the same way again. Non-slash, established Arthur/Gwen.
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings: A tiny bit of gore-like imagery, but not that bad.**

**Author's Note: Hello lovelies! This was just a quick three-shot type thingy that popped into my head on the car ride from Boston to New York. In all honesty, neither the writing or the plot is all that great or original, so read at your own risk. Spelling and grammar should be clean, though. Anyway, here's the fic!**

**Setting: This is the "everybody lived" AU, except I'm thinking of spicing some stuff up with an alternate magic reveal having happened much earlier in the series with a different reaction with Arthur.**

**Disclaimer: I don't in any way own Merlin.**

Uncle Merlin was supposed to be back five days ago.

Father was in a right state, and I couldn't blame him. I was just as worried. It had been a while since anybody besides Mother had bothered to lie to me about the danger in which all of my family - Father, Uncle Merlin, the knights, everybody - constantly put themselves. I hated it, not knowing whether or not they were ever coming home. It sounded so..._girlish_ to say it, too much like my mother would sound, but that was how I felt, nonetheless.

"A king must be strong for his people, Will," Father told me the first night Merlin hadn't come home. Of course, he wasn't following his own advice very well. To be honest, it was a little scary. I had never seen him so - _frantic_. Worried, upset: those were normal. But the state of wide-eyed panic he seemed to be in, that was new. He paced the throne room floor all day waiting for news, looking for all the world like a caged wolf. Feral. Ready to snap. Even when Mother was sick, he hadn't been like this. I asked Mother about it yesterday, and she only looked at me with the saddest face and said, "He's already lost him once."

**(Quick AN: this refers to the possible alternate magic reveal I was thinking of. AN over)**

_That_ hadn't sounded good, but when I tried to question her further, she told me to ask Uncle Merlin when he got back. She said it in such a fierce, un-Gwen-like way that I dropped the topic, but it had been bugging me since then. What had she meant, Father had lost Merlin? I hoped I'd get the chance to ask him.

I hadn't said goodbye to him this time. Worse, the last thing I'd said was…much crueler than just forgetting to say goodbye, and now he might be dead and I would never get to tell him I didn't mean it.

Even though I was sitting in the throne room where everybody could see me, I felt my eyes prickle. I shoved them back down roughly and tried to pay attention to Gwaine's analysis of where Uncle Merlin might be.

The long-haired knight had never looked more serious. It was extremely out of place on him, the perpetual rascal of the Round Table. "We've looked, Sire, everywhere in the forest. If he's hurt or out there on his own, we would have found him by now. Wherever Alisa's got him, it's either very well-hidden or outside the borders of Camelot," he finished gravely.

Father exhaled shakily, resuming the pacing he had paused when Gwaine had entered and running a hand through his blond hair. "We've got to find him, Gwaine. He's – valuable to the court. Best damn sorcerer we've got."

Gwaine threw my father a withering glare, and even I rolled my eyes. My father still liked to pretend he and Uncle Merlin weren't friends, which seemed utterly ridiculous to me. When I told Merlin so, he'd grinned and said, "You're more like your mother than your father. Gwen's much kinder."

I had puffed up at the suggestion that Father was somehow mean, but he had laughed and held up his hands. "It's not his fault," the warlock had said. "Arthur just happens to be a prat. It's in his nature." I'd laughed, then, too. Uncle Merlin and Gwaine were the only ones who dared to insult my father, and only Merlin called him a prat. Or clot pole. That was another favorite.

Gwaine cleared his throat, pulling me back to the present. "I'm taking Percival and Elyan to ride out near Carleon at dawn. With your permission, Princess," he tacked on as an afterthought.

"Whatever it takes." Father nodded.

All of sudden a sharp hissing noise filled the hall, as if all the air was escaping. Everybody froze. We recognized that noise – Uncle Merlin was coming back. He'd told me once that most powerful sorcerers could transport places without making any noise at all, but that he was crap at the spell. With a final pop, the warlock fully materialized. Yu8

I wouldn't ever forget that sight; I was taking that to the grave and I knew it.

Uncle Merlin was on his hands and knees about ten feet away from where my mother and I sat. One hand clutched at his chest, and with dawning horror I realized he was pressing against a gaping hole that was gushing blood everywhere. And Uncle Merlin, I could see then, was covered in the stuff. All drenched: his hands, his legs, his face – and his face! His face was a mangled mass of cuts and bruises, almost unrecognizable as his face. He was coughing like a maniac, and dots of blood splattered the floor before being engulfed in the red deluge pouring from between his fingers.

The three guards, my father, and Gwaine instantly surrounded him. "Merlin? Merlin?" I could only see their backs, and I started to stagger forward before my mother grabbed my arm. "Go out in the corridor, Will," she said urgently, her eyes locked on Father's bent form as he knelt over his brother. "Now."

I was fifteen, certainly old enough not to be ordered around where somebody I cared about was involved, and I would have said so too if my mind wasn't numb with shock. What I was seeing was unreal, impossible, and I wanted to unsee it. I wanted to pretend it wasn't happening. So instead of arguing like I should have, of being the adult I so often claimed I was, I turned and sprinted out of the throne room. I could hear Father shouting as I left. "Merlin, stay with me! Come on, dammit, you have to stay! I don't care if you never listen to another order in your life, you listen to this one or so help me I will throw you in the stocks for a month! Listen to me, idiot, you can't do this! Merlin!"

Whatever adrenaline fueled my mad dash from the hall fled the moment the doors closed behind me. My sprint morphed into a stagger as a wave of nausea rolled through me. I grabbed at the wall for support. The image of the blood leaving Merlin's body rose to the backs of my eyelids and I couldn't stop myself from retching.

I heaved for what felt like forever, long past when anything stopped coming up. I could still hear the muffled sounds of Uncle Merlin dying in the throne room – _please let him live_, I thought, _please, please oh god he can't die _ - and the court physician didn't spare me a glance when he breezed past me. Eventually, I collapsed into a heap next to the puddle of sick I had made and just sat there with my eyes squeezed shut.

I had been around battlefields my whole life, and I had never seen anything like that. I'd seen better wounds on dead men. And how could he possibly lose so much blood? It wasn't possible, it just wasn't.

I didn't know how long I sat there. It was probably not longer than fifteen minutes, but there was no way of knowing for sure. Percival was the one who got me. I'd sensed a presence, and when I had opened my eyes, the giant man was in front of me, hand extended.

Even unsmiling, a grim expression on his face, Percival radiated composure. I think I might even have relaxed just the slightest bit. I took his hand and let him pull me to my feet. "Is he – is he alive?" I managed around the lump in my throat. I didn't care if it was undignified, I didn't care if it was unbefitting of a prince.

Percival's face softened around the edges. "Yes," he answered quietly. "He's alive for now, but we don't know much else."

I took that to mean Merlin was hovering on the very edge, and the tiniest push might send him off into the abyss. I lowered my eyes and let out a shaky breath.

**Author's Note: So, whaddaya think? Tell me if you think I should go on with this, I'm not really sure I should. Reviews and comments are totally awesome, but go easy, please. It's been a stressful week.** **Love you all!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the ridiculously long wait! It's been a seriously stressful few weeks. We've got a four day weekend now, so things are settling down a bit - I finally got to spend some quality time with Doctor Who,**

**Also, this refers to the alternate magic reveal I talked about, which I should get around to next chapter. **

**Anyway, have a great halloween! On with the fic!**

I spent half the night sitting outside Roger's chambers. Uncle Merlin had trained Roger himself after the last physician had died. Roger was waspish, but I'd known him my entire life and had always his enjoyed his grumpy complaining. He cared about us all, in a Roger kind of way, but with Merlin, he was different. He positively adored the warlock.

Everybody did.

I was not the only one camped outside the physician's quarters. Although Mother had managed to shoo the knights away a few hours ago, Gwaine had outright refused to leave, and when Percival had tried to physically haul him away, he had unleashed an absolute hurricane of curses and threats that made Mother's ears turn red. Percival, needless to say, put him down. Gwaine had fallen silent immediately and resumed his pacing.

It was just the three of us after Percival gave up: Gwaine, my mother, and I. I had gone numb a long time ago, unable to think of anything at all. I just felt sick, sicker than I'd ever felt before, and I shifted on the wall I was leaning against. I had elected to sit on the floor so that Mother could have the little chair stationed beside the physician's door; I faced both my mother and the door. Mother, for her part, sat in the chair in a very still, very careful manner: as if the slightest movement would shatter whatever hold on reality she had.

I twined and untwined my fingers repeatedly. It was hard to sit here without the slightest clue about Uncle Merlin's condition – Roger slammed the door in our faces whenever we so much as opened it. Only Father was allowed inside, and only then because he threatened to sack Roger otherwise. Or so I'd been told. I hadn't seen him since I ran out of the hall. Since Uncle Merlin showed up with a hole in his chest.

I knuckled my eyes as if it would help to dispel the images I kept seeing. Merlin's face when I'd said those things before he'd left, Merlin wounded, Merlin dead…_Jesus, he can't die, he just can't- _

No, I wouldn't have it. Merlin would live. I was William Pendragon, future King of all Albion, and I would not be denied. In that way, I guessed, I was truly my father's son.

Gwaine snorted suddenly, jerking me roughly out of my reverie. Mother flinched, startled, and waited for the knight to explain. He looked up at us with a twisted half-smile on his face, a mockery of his usual grin. "We didn't find him this time, either. We never find him. In a way, it's up to him to find himself."

That made zero sense to me, but a stricken look fell over Mother's face. "You're right," she murmured. "Last time we didn't know we were looking."

What in the world were they talking about? I couldn't quite bring myself to care.

Gwaine laughed, and the sound shocked me. It was a cynical, grating bark; nothing like anything I'd ever heard from him. Nothing like Gwaine at all. "We knew," Gwaine replied, his voice cutting and bitter. "We just knew we wouldn't find anything."

The curiosity rose, accompanied by a sort of apprehension. What could have possibly happened to Uncle Merlin that was so bad that it made Mother's lips tremble the way they were now? What could be so horrible that Gwaine acted like this, and to my mother, no less?

Her words from earlier swelled in my mind. Father. _He's already lost him once_. Was this what they were talking about?

Christ, my head hurt. I wanted to sleep, but that was so far out of the realm of possibility that it was laughable. Sleep, after what I had seen?

Maybe it shouldn't have been as devastating as it was. Maybe, later, Sir Kay or Sir Bedivere would give me a lecture about the dignity of a prince or the realities of battle; as if I wasn't already familiar with all of that. I was. I'd seen death, just not on _Merlin_, the one who I'd spent half my life chasing after. It was wrong on such a fundamental level that I just couldn't process it.

Mother's voice cut through my thoughts. She sounded like she was pleading with the knight. "Will you ever forgive him?" She was even leaning towards him, one hand outstretched in entreatment.

_They've forgotten I'm even here_, I realized. I wondered momentarily if I should stop them.

Gwaine's face froze any intention I had of speaking up. It looked like an amateur's carving: all sharp, jagged edges. This was the face of an anger as cold as ice, but _why_?

"I have." His tone matched his face.

"No, you haven't. He was a different man, Gwaine. He was blinded by—"

"What he did, regardless of how _blind_ he was, is inexcusable! I can't help but wonder if he's learned. I forgave him, Gwen, but I'm watching. For Merlin's sake."

"Then you are blind, if you cannot see how much he regrets his actions!" Mother shot back hotly. _This is not for me. I should not be hearing this_. Even if I had no clue what it was I was hearing. Mother kept going in a tone so biting I was inclined to take a step back. "He has never truly forgiven himself, and if you can't see that – he's changed, Gwaine, and you know it. What did you think, that he'd _forgotten_ what he'd done? You and the knights barely looked at him for a year, and then – and you think he'd just _forget_? You saw how he was afterwards, and if that isn't proof, I don't know what is!"

Silence pressed insistently against my ears as Gwaine and my mother stared each other down.

All at once, the tension deflated. Gwaine relaxed, running a hand through his long hair. "I'm sorry. I – you're right, I'm just angry –"

"Who are we talking about?" I blurted suddenly. I couldn't stop the question, even though I'd learned the benefits of keeping quiet during these kinds of things long ago. I just couldn't help myself. What the hell were they talking about? What did it _mean_?

Mother jumped in her seat and Gwaine's head whipped around. When he spoke, his voice was…icy again, like whatever Mother's outburst had accomplished had been erased. "You don't know?" He turned back to my mother. "You never told him?"

"Told me what?"

"It is not my place to tell," Mother replied calmly. "It's Merlin's story, and it is uo to him to decide when to share it."

"If he dies—"

"He's not going to die," I interrupted. The urge to tell him to shut up, to tell them both to shut up overwhelmed me and I had to swallow hard before I could repeat myself with any sort of confidence. "He's not going to die. I know it."

I wasn't really aware of how childish I sounded, or I would have been mortified, but at the moment that was what I felt like. A child.

I was saved from saying something even more childlike by the banging of the physician's door as Roger threw it open. We all froze, and I felt my throat tighten. _Please don't let him be dead please_ –

Moment of truth, and judging by the haggard look on Roger's face, it wasn't good.

"It's bad," he confirmed bluntly. "Really bad. I've done what I can, but there's no guarantee he'll last the night. He's still unconscious. You can see him, if you like." He lowered his head and retreated into his room. Gwaine brushed past Mother and strode into the chambers as if he owned it. Mother glanced at me before going in.

"Will," she said. "When you hear it…don't judge him too harshly."

I was utterly fed up with their lack of clarification, but I had bigger concerns at the moment and had no time to deal with Mother and Gwaine when Uncle Merlin was in there dying.

Dying. That pulled me up short. I swallowed spasmodically and followed Mother into the small physician's chambers.

It looked like something out of a book. Books and miscellaneous vials and jars lined the wall: the only gaps were where the stairs to Roger's loft began and the doorway in which I stood, absorbing the scene. Uncle Merlin was in the middle, laid out on the patient bed. My eyes immediately went to his chest, to where I had seen his lifeblood pouring out only hours before. Whatever I was expecting, the clean, white, bandages wrapped around his torso were an improvement. He was shirtless, and even from my position in the door I could see how labored his breathing was.

Father sat to his right on the three-legged stool I spent much of my childhood perched on. His whole posture spoke of defeat, something I rarely saw from him. _Kings are strong. Kings are brave. No matter what, Will, you can't give up._ His shoulders sagged and his forehead rested on his clasped hands. It looked so fundamentally _wrong_ that my mind shied away from it, and I hastily refocused on Gwaine.

The icy Gwaine of two minutes ago was lost, and in his place was a side of Gwaine I recognized: anger. Fury, hot and familiar, turned his voice into a demand. "Who did this?"

Father lifted his head. His face was a thousand years old as he said, "You know who. Alisa. Merlin managed to tell us that much. He said she's dead."

"He killed her?" Mother said from where she'd moved to stand behind Father.

"Damn right he did," Father answered, pride breaking through the weariness that blanketed his voice.

"Will?" Mother broke in.

I hadn't moved from the door. Suddenly I didn't want to be here, didn't want to acknowledge my father's exhaustion, didn't want to see the man on the bed. I took a half step forward; _kings are strong. Kings are brave._ But I wasn't brave, wasn't ready to watch my uncle die. My stomach twisted and churned.

"Will, come in here," Mother said gently.

I couldn't.


End file.
